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SPASMS
By J. B. G.
(Reading time: Three putrid changeovers and a tivo-xveeks’ notice)
Simile: As welcome as an armful
of solo slides on opening night.
* * *
The height of being behind the times : The manager who still blames
“pee-wee” golf for poor business.
* * *
First Projectionist: “I wish I had a thousand bucks.”
Second Projectionist: “I’ll just
‘scab’ on you by wishing for five hundred.”
* * *
They all laughed when I sat down at the piano for they were deaf and
had nothing to fear.
* * *
But, boss, with business so bad the
wrong reel shouldn’t matter !
* * *
The beginning of the main title is silent so just keep the fader down
until the music starts.”
* * *
Dr. Swab says : ‘‘The only cure for
usheritis is to marry the gorl.”
* * *
Shades of the past: (Overheard)
“Everything that happened on that deck had to happen in ‘one’ because that was all the deck they had. There was a dizzy drop painted with water colors that these broads could just squeeze in front of if they held their arms to their sides and came out sideways. . . . They cared for them big in those days. Two hundred pounds
was the absolute minimum The
boss was too hide-bound to buy them real outfits so they made their own. And were they darbs? Cheese cloth sewed to the top of their stockings constituted the tights, while they decorated their beef with big tissue paper bows around their hips and over their lungs. . . . Every time they got in front of the footlights they became paralyzed and didn’t know what to do until the ‘orchestra’ — a piano
player with a green eye shade pulled over his eyes and a pill hanging from his mouth — would squint up at them and holler: “Come on! Start step
pin’.’ Then they’d get going. First one and then the other would lift a leg and start to sing — with every lift
a grunt and every note a groan
I remember one night they were doing their stuff when the tissue paper works went haywire on one of them, falling down and showing everything. Zing went the old spot right down on the main event with the customers giving the circus a big cheer in fifteen
languages Up clumps the boss’
dogs on the ladder rungs, all flustered and excited as he poked his knob into the can and shouted: “That’s great! We’ll pull it every show!”
* * *
He was a big man in a business way, this little runt with the rusty hair and fawn-colored spats, and the personnel of the El Drumburst Theatre realized the fact. So as he stood in the lobby refusing a seat and staring at the doorman as that worthy tore the tickets the staff became first curious, then slightly frightened, then genuinely scared. The “grapevine” became active. The manager was notified ; the assistant manager awakened, and these two rubbed apprehensive shoulders in emergency formation.
“That’s funny,” said the manager.
“Sure is funny,” agreed the assistant.
“He seems to be staring right through the doorboy, doesn’t he?” added the manager.
Doesn’t he seem to be staring right through the doorboy?” amended the assistant.
“Shut up,” whispered the manager, “here he comes.” Then, in the accepted managerial tone: “And
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